


Hunger

by Semianonymity



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semianonymity/pseuds/Semianonymity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Spoilers for chapter 207!</b> Komatsu meets the Kings’ new technique. Written in response to chapter 207, not canon compliant past that. Implied Kings/Komatsu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

The creatures were everywhere. There were thousands of truck-sized, flailing bodies, and although they were terrifyingly powerful, the Kings were even more so. In the middle of a nest of monsters, snake-like, gaping mouths surrounded by barbed tentacles that seemed capable of slithering into even the slightest gap in someone’s defenses, the four of them found room to push each other along, their common enemy not strong enough or enough of a distraction to keep them from petty, mostly good-natured squabbling.

“Out of the  _way!_ ” Sunny snapped at Zebra, flailing a clear space around him, snarling as one of them spit venom fast enough that it got in his hair when he snapped up a shield. Zebra snickered at him, throwing one of the monsters close enough to Sunny to make him jump out of the way. Fuming, entangling another one of their attackers in his net as he simultaneously prepared to push Zebra further away from him, he paused. Zebra had suddenly gone dead still, infuriating insouciance and gleeful blood lust replaced by sheer fury and—fear, Sunny realized. ‘Matsu.

Zebra was already gone, and Sunny sped after him, sensor net expanding in front of him even if it weakened his defenses, looking for the chef, tuned to the specific taste of his skin, the chemical components of his sweat and the ever-changing taste of whatever ingredients he’d been handling, the calloused spots on his hands from hard work, his fragile skin, the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck—

He reached the next clearing with Zebra, side-by-side, Toriko and Coco waiting for him, Komatsu cradled in Toriko’s arms, alert but bleeding all over his partner. Toriko was growling, deep and low in his chest, and Sunny could feel his own anger, still flaring high despite the assurance that his ‘Matsu was okay, respond to Toriko’s obvious fury.

Too many of the nasty creatures. They were hideous. But their blood smelled sweet. No doubt the others were just as hungry. More so. Sunny smiled, knife-edged and cruel, not a response to the smile Komatsu gave him from Toriko’s arms but an invitation to the others.

Toriko set Komatsu on the ground, safely behind them, letting Sunny focus on their opponents. And Quinn would keep any further beasts from reaching them—or their chef. And the four of them were united, in hunger and greed—they were all gluttons in their own way, always looking for more, new flavors, new experiences, and they’d fight for what was  _theirs,_ what should be theirs, and they’d take their meal from these hideous creatures, how  _dare_ they hurt ‘Matsu—

The promise of the taste of blood was sharp in his mouth as the four of them launched their attack, pure appetite uncluttered by anything else (much of anything else—maybe there was no need to use it, no matter how many creatures there were; but Toriko was scenting the air, breathing in the smell of Komatsu’s fresh-spilled blood) but sheer glory in the meal, apex predators taking their fill. Panting, Sunny propped himself up using his hairs, almost purring with sheer satisfaction as the pale ghost of their hunger ripped through scales and bones and flesh, leaving nothing in its wake, growing bigger and bigger as it ate, unsatisfied because there was always more, enough was never going to be enough—

Coco made the first noise of alarm, making Sunny sit up and focus, because that was Coco, always the first to see things go wrong, and—

Medium-sized still, much smaller than when they’d faced the Four Beast, there were no more of the snake monsters there, and stymied, the attack turned in on itself, searching through the tangles of its own tail, finding nothing, moving out to circle again and—

Komatsu—

Not sure what to do, unable to do anything, Sunny watched, horror—new horror, overwhelming, like his organs had frozen, like he’d been eviscerated completely, torso hollowed out and salt rubbed into the bare surface, too slow as their monstrous hunger slipped past the net of his hair and dodged around Zebra’s sound bullet—nothing stronger, too close to Komatsu—and shrugged off Coco’s poison like it was nothing and stared Komatsu in the face, half-open mouth and the suggestion of teeth, Komatsu small enough to be nothing more than a single quick bite—

Nothing happened. Sunny tried not to sob, but he was afraid to move in case that broke whatever had made the ou shoku bansan halt. Maybe it would dissipate, with no more enemies, nothing more to consume, just Komatsu, ‘Matsu couldn’t be dinner, surely their appetites weren’t so monstrous—

Komatsu let out a shaky breath and scrambled to his feet, the ou shoku bansan following his movements even though it was eyeless, a quick jerk to the side when Komatsu stumbled on the loose sandy gravel beneath him translating to a long ripple down the length of it.

“Fuck,” Zebra breathed out as Komatsu took a step  _towards_ the thing. Toriko stepped forward too, mule-headed, the glutton prepared to fight his own gluttony for the chef, and Sunny spread out his hairs, but it was impossible to get a grip on the slick, alien skin of the thing they’d created.

“It’s okay,” Komatsu told them, nodding at them, sure even though he was obviously nervous, hands balled into shaking fists—he’d just seen them eat every one of the monsters, all the countless thousands of them that had been prepared to swamp them in sheer numbers, given half a chance—and Coco nodded in return, even though his muscles were tight, eyes already bereft. But he must not see the death sign over Komatsu, Sunny thought. His nod, combined with Komatsu’s surety—and they all kept on learning just how much Komatsu’s strength was worth, over and over, maybe this would be no different—maybe this would finally be the time their own greed got Komatsu killed, because he’d be so much safer back in his own restaurant, but none of them were selfless enough to give him up, none of them were self-sacrificial, even if Coco tried to be, and Komatsu himself wouldn’t listen, now, he was a better chef, he liked their time together, it was his own impetus to see the wild, to see his prey caught before he prepared it—but no, not prey, Komatsu was so much more human than them, that was the  _problem,_ if he’d only been another half-tamed predator then he’d never have tried anything this stupid in the first place, stepping towards the most powerful combined attack of the Four Kings working in sync—

But they all stayed back as Komatsu stepped up, hands raised, but a sign of submission wouldn’t do anything to something that was only interested in consumption, in filling itself and growing stronger to eat even more.

Toriko let out a shaky breath as the thing bumped its face against Komatsu’s hands, his fingers curling against its slick-smooth skin as it—he was petting it, and it was cuddling up close, tail curling up into more knots as their ‘Matsu leaned some of his weight against it. Patting it carefully, talking. “Hey there,” ‘Matsu was saying, Sunny needing to strain to hear; it was just Komatsu talking to—to something that wasn’t alive, wasn’t really anything at all. “Hey, thanks for not eating me—I guess you had a good meal? Maybe the Kings don’t want you to. But you seem almost alive—”

If ‘Matsu thought the thing was alive, maybe it was. Even if it wasn’t an ingredient—well, almost anything could be an ingredient, and their chef was more in touch with those sorts of things than almost anyone else, the whole world strained to work _with_ him if given a chance, making Sunny swell with vicarious pride—his partner (not quite, but almost, his—his ‘Matsu) had saved the people of the world, which Sunny didn’t care about, particularly, but ‘Matsu did. And he cared about cooking.

Komatsu giggled as the ultimate attack of four of the most powerful, most inhuman men the world knew licked at his arm. Not the bloody one, Sunny thought, relieved. Would the taste of blood awaken their appetite? Make it actually do the right thing?

There was no good reason why Komatsu wasn’t already dead.

Instead, he laughed, and scratched at the corner of its torn mouth, like jaggedly ripped cloth—no doubt Zebra’s fault, Sunny thought grumpily. If not for the influence of the others, no doubt it would have been a perfectly beautiful attack.

It bit down on Komatsu’s jacket, shredding it, and Komatsu just shrugged, apparently unconcerned. Toriko actually flinched, practically trembling with the need to protect Komatsu. Coco had a hand wrapped in Toriko’s orange jacket, still wet and dark with Komatsu’s blood down the front, physically restraining him, knuckles white with effort. Maybe partially to keep himself calm as well. Zebra was pacing behind them, a thunderhead, a mountain, somewhere between helpless fury and incoherent, panicked worry. ‘Matsu. How the hell did he do it? He was almost hugging the thing, leaning into a coil of tail it had worked around him. Sunny had watched with glee and hunger and pride as it ate its way through the flesh of horrific monsters, still alive, but only in the technical sense, their existence now with a very definite end-date, gaping holes eaten into it and stitched up with the flailing tail of something even more monstrous—

Komatsu was tickling it under the chin, and their insatiable appetite given form was letting him, still dead-silent—nothing to make noise with—but it had rolled back to give the chef access. Quietly, Coco whispered a fervent curse, making Zebra startle and sneak a glance at him—Coco was normally so much more reserved.

“Thank you,” Komatsu told it sincerely, with a quick bow, and once more it pressed its face against the small weak body it had wrapped itself around—not through, but around—like a cat butting its head against a beloved owner. Komatsu petted it as it thinned and dissipated, finally disappearing, leaving him standing there, unaided and still bleeding sluggishly and still  _alive_.

Toriko reached him first, but Sunny touched him first, his senses flooded with Komatsu and sensors already patching up the ugly tear torn into the flesh of his arm—flesh that could have been eaten by  _them_ in their attempts to save him, Sunny thought, sick to his stomach, and wasn’t that a change? He couldn’t remember the last time his appetite had been seriously shaken, not just temporarily put off by ugly surroundings or poor presentation.

Toriko had Komatsu in his arms, nose buried in his shoulder, holding the chef’s back against his broad front, Komatsu uncomplaining, even happy, one of his hands resting over Toriko’s fingers, gripping them comfortingly, his other hand reaching out to take Zebra’s. Sunny wrapped ‘Matsu up, just enough pressure in a few places that Komatsu could feel it. Space left for Coco to come in, an antidote for Komatsu prepared already, Coco looking weak-kneed and relieved as well. All of them shaken.

All of them except Komatsu.

“You are so  _stupid!_ ” Sunny wailed into Komatsu’s hair, one hand against his cheek and bent around Toriko to reach. “What were you thinking?”

“Huh?” Komatsu asked, confused. “It’s just a scratch, Sunny-san—Toriko-san, Zebra-san, Coco-san. I’m fine! I’ve had worse in my kitchen—and Coco-san, you have an antidote, right?”

“There is no antidote to getting fucking eaten, you cocky bastard!” Zebra roared, hand tightening—not dangerously tight, Sunny could feel it, his hairs coating all of them—around Komatsu’s.

“I’ve had much closer calls,” Komatsu said, looking bewildered in his knot of arms, looking up to meet each of their eyes individually, searching for understanding. “Like in the Gourmet Pyramid, Zebra—you were all right here!”

“We can’t defend you against our own attack,” Coco said, sounding a little anguished, in a way that made Sunny think of how Coco avoided touching ‘Matsu after a battle, until he’d had a chance to wash off in a stream or pond. No matter if there wasn’t any poison lingering on his skin. “Not well, Komatsu-kun, you can’t—”

“What do you mean?” Komatsu asked, looking suddenly terribly confused. “You did defend me, but—”

“Komatsu-kun,” Coco said, looking suddenly terribly surprised, almost worried. “Did… Are you talking about the nest of creatures we stumbled upon?” He was almost resigned, and one hand went to cover his face, expression and tone somewhere between horrified and resignedly amused.

“Of course!” Komatsu said, and Sunny choked. Toriko was obviously confused, and growing more so, but his arms tightened around Komatsu regardless.

“Did you forget how fucking dangerous we are?” Zebra suddenly demanded, looming in close; Coco was frowning, not disagreeing. “Are you  _listening_ , kid? We’re not playing around!”

“Of course,” Komatsu told him, looking concerned.

(But not afraid.)

“Zebra-san, I’m hardly going to forget—”

“Because you never knew in the first place! Cocky _idiot—_ ”

“Zebra-san!”

“Really, Komatsu-kun, Zebra has a point,” Coco told him, carefully. “If we had—”

“I couldn’t escape your attack even if I tried,” Komatsu pointed out, mulish. Sunny actually flinched away, despite himself. To—to watch, and taste the spray of blood as Komatsu was torn apart, devoured in two quick bites, the long body of their appetite looping back on itself as it continued to devour—

“But it was fine,” he pointed out. “I know that.” Komatsu’s voice was unbearably gentle, underneath the stubbornness, the unwavering, unflinching confidence he held in all of them. It was inexplicable, really, Sunny thought, and he felt a sudden rush of embarrassment that he’d ever misjudged Komatsu so badly, that he’d ever dismissed him as ugly and unworthy, no matter what Komatsu looked like. “I knew it would be fine, because—it’s you, right?”

“We don’t control it,” Toriko said, sounding bleak. Enough of a change from his usual boisterous, loud, indefatigable good cheer that it made Komatsu look up, automatic, keeping track of his partner, looking after him. “We can’t—Komatsu…”

“No, no, I know that,” Komatsu said, making Zebra go tense again. “But it’s  _from_ you. It’s your own drive. And I’m not your prey.”

Zebra grimaced, as much a monster as a human and then some, and shaken apart by the thought that he might have helped kill the man whose hand he was holding. Or maybe the suggestion that Komatsu could be prey, because—

Because he was. He certainly wasn’t a predator.

(He was too  _human_ , Sunny thought, because he wasn’t from a world of eat-or-be-eaten, he was too kind, he saw  _them_ as human, which was the greatest mystery of all, because anyone so entrenched in human life, so antithesis to the hunt, shouldn’t have been able to see humanity in them when he’d seen them hunt for prey to be brought down with no tools other than their bodies, to be eaten still steaming and raw, dripping blood—Komatsu wasn’t wild. They still were, even when they were dressed in suits, at a dining table, eating fine cuisine. Komatsu cooked for them. Maybe they were more human than animal, after all. Maybe they could still be predators, just human ones.)

“You’re too trusting, Komatsu-kun,” Coco told him, but he was grim-faced and serious when he said it, for once not really meaning it.

“Coco-san,” Komatsu told him, with mild disapproval, like it was a gentle rebuke. “You saw that. I  _know_ you would never hurt me, and your appetite wouldn’t, either!”

There was dead silence. Zebra looked pained, confused, a little angry because of it, as he tried to work out what Komatsu was to them, if he wasn’t food. And he was only Toriko’s partner. Komatsu settled himself more comfortably into the Toriko’s arms, Toriko adjusting automatically, careful of his injury. Even though it really was minor, now that Coco had cleared the poison—although Coco’s hand was still resting protectively over the rough gouge. Before Komatsu, Toriko wouldn’t have thought twice about an injury like that, on himself or anyone else. He wouldn’t have made any adjustment, wouldn’t have been careful because of something not that much worse than a scraped knee. He probably wouldn’t have looked out for Komatsu much in the first place—not more than perfunctorily. He wouldn’t have had anything but the meal be a priority.

Sunny wouldn’t have protected Komatsu at all.

Coco would have, but only out of duty. He wouldn’t be out gathering ingredients, still alienated and bitter and lonely, pushing away unwanted attention from researchers and townspeople. And Zebra. Sunny couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Zebra touch anyone with friendliness, without some sort of violence or challenge. Zebra, who’d started coming up with new ways to protect things—new ways to protect  _Komatsu—_ with his voice.  _Zebra_. Who argued with Komatsu like an equal, Komatsu arguing back without any real fear.

“I know,” Komatsu added, lightly, like it was so certain that it was unquestionable. A pillar holding him up. There was certainty like the breakthrough he got handling certain ingredients.

Maybe the Kings were his ingredients? Which would make the four of them Komatsu’s prey, in a way. No wonder their appetite hadn’t touched him.

(It was unthinkable, doing anything other than protecting him. Or ruffling him up a bit, but never—never hurting him. The thought put a white-hot fury in Sunny’s stomach, with an intensity he wasn’t used to. He could see it in the others. Komatsu had certainly changed them all. …Sunny should have dinner with him again. Treat him, instead of making him cook—although no doubt the two brutes in the group would complain. Hmph.)

Coco sighed, finally letting go of his lingering stress, shaking his head and allowing a slight smile. “I’m glad you were right, Komatsu-kun,” he said simply, his hand moving to rub the line of the chef’s shoulder, bringing him in closer.

That was enough of that. Rising up a little, Sunny inserted himself into the middle of the huddle, resting a hand on Komatsu’s side—not visibly muscled, but strong in its own way. Strong enough to master a kitchen, to exert his will on raw ingredients and the chefs working for him, and to make the raw, rough ingredients he had into a perfect, beautiful whole. Komatsu leaned into him, smiled up, no pretension in his happiness.

“Thank you for worrying,” Komatsu said. “—But next time, if you leave some, I can cook them! I was thinking about an acidic sauce, and the leaves over there look like wild neotomatoes, which would be perfect, and fresh bread made with pearl-flour to go with it!”

“Komatsu-kun,” Coco said, put-upon again. “Saving you is more important than dinner—”

“Shut up,” Zebra said roughly; it was unclear who he was addressing.

“Let’s find some more,” Toriko said, eyes glinting with the promise of the chase, and Komatsu laughed, brimming over with happiness, moving awkwardly to sling an arm partially around his partner, hugging him close.

“We should find something much more beaut’ful,” Sunny announced. “Instead. ‘Matsu shouldn’t waste his time with such hideous creat’res!”

But nobody moved, still wrapped around each other for a little while longer, skin to skin and their breath mingling, the chill air warm between their bodies, the different rhythms of their breath and heartbeats still somehow harmonious. Nobody quite ready to break the peace they’d arrived at, the relief, the understanding that, yes, everything had turned out right.

-End-


End file.
